


dangerland

by americaiswaiting



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Basically Everything you Can Think Of, Cope Sex, Eating Disorders, Gender Dysphoria, Hallucinations, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Chronological, cooper be like trans noise, i'm david lynch but i'm not a coward because i made cooper gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americaiswaiting/pseuds/americaiswaiting
Summary: “you have until july seventeenth.”july seventeenth was yesterday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Base Ick Lee this is sort of a log of delusions/visions/dreams/nightmares and experiences cooper has in this au i made up where i literally just shove all of my problems onto him

running is hard when you have no legs.  
that’s dale’s first thought upon seeing the deer.  
it has three legs and three glowing eyes.  
dale grazes his flashlight across the sight, surrounded by sycamore trees and loose soil.   
it doesn’t run, it just stands on its three legs and looks at dale with its glowing eyes.  
dale stares back at it. he feels blood run down his cupid’s bow, wipes it on his sleeve before he starts to talk. “i’m not gonna hurt you.”  
the deer does nothing, but high pitched tinkling sounds in dale’s ears. he winces at the sound, yet he understands it, it’s a language, almost, telling him something important. the sounds tell dale everything and nothing. dale nods, the noises come to an immediate stop. dale speaks slowly, “what do you want me to remember?”  
the deer blinks. it’s glowing eyes drip down, pouring off the sides. “you have until july seventeenth.” it prances off.   
july seventeenth was yesterday.


	2. Chapter 2

that night, dale dreams about death.  
he watches his childhood dog melt into a puddle of fur, he watches his grandmother turn to dust, he watches his mother dissolve into thin air, he watches his father rip his heart from his chest.  
dale can’t move, strapped to a chair, tape over his mouth- but he doesn’t try to move or scream.  
he simply watches.  
dale wakes up hungry with clusters of cuts, scratches and bruises on his knees.  
he doesn’t move, but contemplates whether or not the night before really happened.  
dale sits up. it happened (itdi dn’t) it didn’t happen (ithap pen ed) it happened (it-  
and so on, so forth.


	3. Chapter 3

tonight is not an exception.  
when dale promises he can let himself go on fridays and weekends, he still hates himself.  
at nine forty eight pm, dale walks into his kitchen, sweaty, cold, calories, calories.  
there’s half of a birthday cake in the fridge.  
dale eats the whole thing without a second thought.  
he stands in place. the room is empty around him, fruit flies swimming in the overhead light slow before he runs out.  
at ten twenty six pm, dale goes to the bar. he never drank, doesn’t like the taste of beer or wine (whodo es, w hodoe s) but he sits.  
dale is alone with his thoughts, he scratches his ear. his hair is falling out again. tears well up in his eyes.  
dale orders a shot of whiskey, pours it out on the table, and wipes it up with some crumpled up tissues in his right pocket.  
it means nothing.  
at eleven eleven pm, dale makes a wish.   
he wishes to die in his sleep, then automatically takes it back and wishes for a boyfriend like an eleven year old girl. he’s an eleven year old girl.  
at eleven twenty two, he runs into the bathroom with a stranger and sucks him off behind the bar. he begs silently for the man to fill the emptiness inside his chest, clog his lungs with come so he doesn’t need to keep going. the man yanks out his hair and calls him a good girl. he doesn’t care.  
at twelve oh one am, dale lies in the corner of the bar bathroom, rotting alive with come on his face like a good girl.


	4. Chapter 4

dale wakes up, but not really.  
he misses his ribcage. there’s a cyst forming on his chin. it hurts when he tries to pick at it (sto ppicking at it, sto ppickingat it, stoppickin gat it, s).  
his ears ring. there’s a woman on a rocking chair (hedo esn’to wna rockin gchair) in the corner of his room (when didh e get into hi sroom ?)  
she speaks. he doesn’t understand what she’s saying at first, but it phases in. her voice is deep, so deep, sounds like his father’s.   
“you’re a good person, dale cooper. you’re a good person, dale cooper,” she babbles, it’s not meaningful, or heading anywhere, “you’re a good person, dale cooper.”  
he sits up (he adru sh), he stands up (wor se), “who are you?” his tone is firm.  
“you don’t know me?” he shakes his head. the woman isn’t old, but isn’t young. she has ringlets of red hair, umber skin and gray eyes. “i’m-” she opens her mouth to speak, but dale only hears static pour from her lips. he understands her.  
“what do you want from me?” dale sits on the edge of his bed. he tries to place a hand on the rocking chair to stop it from going any faster. his hand passes through it, it goes faster.  
static keeps pouring out, she smiles with her teeth clenched, dale makes out some words (bird, stop sign, red, tuesday, box, nail, heat, home).  
she fades out.   
dale wakes up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> despacito

the next night, dale sees the deer again.  
he’s in a forest, he’s running, he doesn’t know why (doesn ‘tkno wwhyc an’tst opno w).  
dale looks at his reflection in a pond, the deer is behind him, he jumps in his skin.  
“what are you doing here?” dale’s voice is high and slurred.  
“you’re the monster,” the deer says without introduction, “you are the monster, you are the monster, you are the monster.”  
“no-” dale’s voice is higher, “i’m a good person.”  
“you’re either a good girl or a bad boy,” the deer says, “you’re a bad person, you’re a boy.”  
“i’m a good person, i promise,” dale chokes back tears, voice is higher, “i’m so good.”  
“then do it.” a torch appears at dale’s feet.  
“do what?”  
“pick it up.”  
dale does, the metal feels cold in his hands before catching aflame by himself. distant chanting starts. he walks, he doesn’t know where, but his feet do. it’s sick, he’s out of it, he’s sick (sic k).  
he stops, the chanting is loud. there’s a cross stuck in the ground up ahead.  
chained to the tree is an unconscious little girl.  
he stops. “i can’t.”  
“are you a good girl or a bad boy?” dale blinks, the words echo, the water ripples.  
he walks forward slowly. cold tears drip down his warm cheeks as he sets fire to the cross.  
the girl is still unconscious. she opens her eyes.  
dale opens his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS WHEN HARRY IS HERE HE WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE BUT ITS TOO FAR AWAY FROM TP CANON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written this in a long time but now im feeling really sad. just absolutely tragic. just depressed enough to crank another chapter out. enjoy

something’s missing. it’s been missing for a long time. (an dyou ‘vebe endo ings owell)  
dale knows it’s (thecla wma rkson herw rists) shutting in. not talking to anyone from lack of anyone to talk to. there’s nobody. dale isn’t proud.  
that’s why he’s here, at a bar he’s only passed by, not the one he thought about maybe going to when he was legal (but not for the beer, because he hates it), the one his dad took him to while they sold his uncle’s vodka. what ever happened to your uncle’s vodka?  
it’s worse than he remembers. it smells like garlic, and blood, and a rented out dvd copy of the godfather. this one’s different from the other bars, it’s not sexy. it’s old and rotten. there’s a group of older, italian men in the back. they play cards and look as if they’re about to ask for protection money. the bartender is tired, blinking rapidly, appearing near death. there’s another italian man, in his 60s this time, in the front. he looks like another uncle, but it can’t be him. at least, not legally. he’s flipping through a phonebook and frantically whispering assorted phone numbers to herself, underlining certain names. (ma ybe h ekno wseve ryon e?)  
the door swings open in the wind. dale hears footsteps. it’s a cinematic entrance- he steps in, this man that looks like a cowboy, tilts his hat and smiles at dale automatically. he steps forward in a robotic manner and outreaches his hand. “i’m harry.”  
dale nods. “dale.” it’s not like he knows who he is. he doesn’t touch harry, dale knows he will later.  
harry’s smile drops a bit, as if he’s genuinely disappointed dale didn’t shake his hand. he might just be. “alright.”  
dale flashes a weak smile to signify that he doesn’t hate harry. he doesn’t. dale looks to the bartender for reassurance. her eyes have rolled into the back of her head. it’s not exactly comforting.   
“so, dale-” there’s another generic smile. this man isn’t real, “you from these parts?”  
“uh-” beat. “i’m just a bit- a little ways away, harry.” dale’s fake charisma was the only thing protecting him. he tries to restore it with a smile. dale’s smile isn’t good. he stops, feeling tears well up in his eyes.  
“aw, man, the-” the next words harry says aren’t real- dale can’t hear them. the numbers are getting louder. the man, the one that looks like dale’s uncle turns around slowly, directly facing dale. dale smiles again, nodding at harry and the man. he doesn’t like this. he doesn’t like this at all.  
“you got that, right?” dale nods. he’s pretty sure static just poured out of harry’s mouth like a broken faucet.   
he studies harry for a second, realizing everything’s fake- of course nobody acts or talks like this. he’s probably just as sad as dale is, maybe even more- no, not more.   
“you seem like an interesting person, dale.” he’s like a doll, and dale keeps pulling the string on the back to hear his classic catchphrases. “what are you- where-” harry stops, realizing he’s stuttered. he looks like he’s going to cry. “what do you do?”  
dale blinks. “harry, do you want to-”  
“absolutely.”  
in the midst of a scary universe, they kiss in a somewhat haunted bar.


End file.
